Destiel Drabble Collection
by starsfleet
Summary: A place to put all my Destiel Drabbles. They range from G to soft R's.
1. Inked

"You know, in some cultures, people believed that freckles marked where you were killed in a previous life," Castiel said, closing his eyes as he laid down on Dean's stomach. He pressed a kiss onto the sliver of skin that was exposed under his t-shirt, a patch of flesh just below his belly button.

"Oh, really?" Dean asked, smiling. He hummed as Cas went higher, rolling up his shirt to explore more of him, lips finding the dips in his hipbones, mouthing promises into them in the pale sunlight.

"Yes," Castiel said, using his elbows to prop him up as he moved further up Dean's body. "Hmm. I'm going to say gunshot wound." A dark black birthmark dotted him just below his last rib. Cas kissed there, and then moved higher. "Stabbed with a knife, I bet," as he nibbled into a mark above Dean's nipple.

"What about you?" Dean asked.

"What about me?"

"Do you have any birthmarks?"

"I am a celestial being. Or rather, was. So, no, I do not."

Dean tilted his head. He grabbed the Sharpie off of the drawer next to them, and in one swift motion, rolled them over so he was on top. He towered above Cas, his skeleton breathing heavily above the angel he called his own. "Let's see what we can do about that."

He marked Cas with x's to show the spots he loved the most, laid down dots like sprinkles across the areas he thought were truly beautiful (where his collarbone decided to lift up and kiss his neck; where the faint outlines of muscle on his stomach were), and using his mouth, bit hickeys into him like ink, permanent tattoos to remind everyone that he was his, and his alone.

It was after Dean slept, while Castiel felt the weight of the newly created birth marks and freckles on him that he knew that these weren't where he had died before, but how many times he would die for Dean, over and over.


	2. It is Quick

It is quick.

So quick that Dean doesn't realise it happened until a good two seconds after it happens. After Castiel breaks away, lips trembling, eyes frantic, searching for a reaction. It's so quick that Dean doesn't process the fact that- holy shit-

_**Castiel just kissed him.**_

There is a lull, one electrified with emotions Dean didn't even know he could feel. The pause seems to last forever; the silence between them static.

"I'm just going to leave, then." Castiel says, and the way his face forms to show his pain could only be described as _heartbreaking. _Dean is still too shocked to do anything, so he stands, doe eyed and dumb at the memory.

So Cas leaves, out the motel door, without another word.

It isn't until late that night, when Cas enters with a pack of beer, flushed cheeks, and the apology hanging off of his tongue that Dean takes the initiative to walk right up to him and intertwine their fingers.

Cas frowns. Dean guides Castiel's hand to set the beer down on the dresser, never breaking eye contact. The green never leaves the blue. He takes both of his hands in his own, and he begins to tell Castiel something but he can't find the words. They are stuck in his throat.

So instead, he leans in quick before he changes his mind, and the angel's lips are like sandpaper. Rugged, but sweet, after a moment, they move against his in time with his heart, that beats against the walls of his chest as if it needs to break free.

"I think I'm in love with you." Castiel says against his lips, so that Dean can feel the words on his mouth, the words that carry a weight with them like no other.

"I know," He says, the ends of his lips quirking up in a smile.


	3. Bed Space

Dean wakes up with Castiel's shoulder in his mouth.

He shakes his head, blinking rapidly and propping himself up on his elbows, allowing himself to stare at the man before him.

There are purple bites travelling across his collarbone (Dean's decided he really, really loves Cas' collarbones) and even more down near his hips. The marks make their way past the blankets, into territory Dean had only dreamed about until last night, when both of them had gotten much too drunk, and much too touchy.

Things turned into other things, and by midnight, they were both sprawled across the sheets, tangled up in each other.

Whether or not they were a thing, or if Cas even remembered it, or if it was something he regretted was irrelevant at the moment, because there was a far more pressing matter at hand.

"Move," he whispers, gently pushing Cas over a bit because Dean's seriously about to fall off here.

But Cas is surprisingly heavy, and he just grumbles something, and curls into Dean's side. Part of him rests on Dean's chest, and his leg buries Dean's leg.

"Cas, come on," he mutters, ignoring the flutter in his chest as Cas drapes his arm across Dean's bare chest.

"Cas, Jesus," Dean says, desperately trying to untangle himself from him without waking him, or falling, even though now half of his back teeters over the edge of the bed.

"Castiel," he says, kissing the tip of his forehead. "Time to wake up."  
But Cas just mumbles, moving into Dean more, and finally, the weight is too much.

They tumble off the bed, Dean catching the brunt off it, back against the hardwood floor. He curses in pain, breathing heavy. His chest rises up and down with heavy breaths, carrying Castiel with them, who, amazingly is still asleep.

Cas works his way on top of him better, head against his neck, and lets out a steady flow of air, eyes still closed.

Dean just laughs.


	4. For Last Night

"Dammit," Dean said, taking note of the refrigerator shelves stocked with the usual— holy water, salt, etc. They were unacceptably void of beer.

"What's the problem?" Castiel asked from the other room.

"Could you do me a favour, go get a six pack?"

Dean turned back to the fridge, not waiting for an answer. He pushed aside a bottle of demon blood, hoping to find something behind it, but nope. Just another vial. He straightened up, backing up into Castiel.

"I could be persuaded," Cas murmured, and all at once he was right there, and his hand was tight against Dean's belt, his lips were sweet against his neck.

"Cas, what are you—mmm." Dean couldn't even protest as deft fingers found their way around his belt loop, and latched onto his zipper and pulled down.

"How much do you want me to get the beer, Dean?" He asked, in between little bites on the nape of his neck. Cas' hand dipped underneath the waistband of Dean's boxers, and pressed hard.

Dean bucked forward, holding his hands against the refrigerator door to steady himself as the tips of Castiel's fingers rubbed circles into his skin.

"Very much, Cas," he breathed, barely coherent as Castiel's fingers dipped lower, tickling against the finely trimmed hairs there.

"How much?"

"A whole _fucking _lot—" he pleaded, shifting his hips up to meet Cas' fingers.

"Okay. I'll be back with them later," he said, giving Dean a bite on the jaw, then leaving.

Dean just stared at his ass as he left.

"What the _hell_?"

"That was for last night," Castiel said, before the door slammed shut.


	5. Video Games

It's the fourth time Castiel's blown himself up.

He has that little pout on his face, and his eyes are narrow, and he chucks the controller across the room.

"Whoa," Dean laughs, getting up, getting it and setting it back down in Cas' hands.

He shakes his head. "Dean, I'm terrible."

Dean forces him to hold the controller anyway. "Single player's a bitch. Play multiplayer with me."

Cas frowns, looking up at him. "I'll lose."

"Probably," Dean says, giving him a smile. He stares at Cas, probably for much too long, because Cas says-

"What?"

"You're cute when you're upset," he whispers.

A blush colours Cas' cheeks, and before he can respond, Dean's leaning in and pressing his lips against his. It's so sweet, and it might be because Cas is frustrated by the game, or it's been far too long, but he turns the kiss frantic.

His hands tug on Dean's shirt, pulling up, and his mouth starts to do devious things. Cas' hands are cold against Dean's stomach, and Dean can't help but shiver.

"Cas," he breathes, "I wanna try something different."

Blue eyes meet green, and Cas nods. "Dean."

"Castiel," he murmurs, finding his way down Cas' neck with short kisses and quick bites.

"If I win, in the game, can I tie you up?" Cas asks, and Dean stops short.

His eyes lift to meet Castiel's, and they're blown wide with lust. "Ye-yeah."

And so they play.

Dean doesn't admit he steps right in front of Castiel's line of fire on purpose, or never uses any health potions. He lets him win. And later, when his wrists are bound to the bed, he knows he made the right choice.


End file.
